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Reynolds glanced his way and his dark brows lifted. The man wore only the latest fashions and his hair was wild and curly—but from the sheen it was deliberately styled just so. No doubt he thought it rakishly attractive. In Valentine’s opinion, the man needed to cease trying to look younger. It was horribly undignified.
“Reynolds,” he greeted.
“Lord Kendall, how do you do?”
He’d rehearsed this in his mind. Even Chastity had counselled him on what to say to the man. But damn it, he did not do small talk. If this man had truly harmed Julian, he’d happily beat the confession out of him. He had to admit, though, seeing a line of dark on the man’s forehead where he had obviously tried to darken gray strands of hair, he could not imagine the man besting a young man like Julian.
“I was wondering if I might ask a favor.” He jerked his head toward an empty spot at the side of the ballroom. They might not be friends or even associates but the man would not deny an earl his request. At least his title could be put to good use today.
“Of course, my lord.”
“Kendall,” he corrected, though he’d be taking that offer back if it turned out the man had laid a hand on his nephew but Chastity had advised it would be good to feign companionship.
It seemed if the ambitious man thought they were inclined to be friends, he’d be more willing to talk of where he bought the favors of women. He did not want to think why or how Chastity knew about the conversations of men on such matters.
They moved over to the edge of the room where several oversized exotic plants provided the faintest fresh fragrance, cleaving through Reynold’s cologne. Valentine frowned. Floris’s Lime. Even he hated that scent now.
Valentine leaned in. “I was hoping to speak to you on a delicate matter.”
“Oh?”
“I hear you frequent The Eight Bells.”
Reynold’s tense brow relaxed, and he grinned. “Oh. I see. You’re after a woman.”
“A specific woman actually—Daisy Miller.”
His grin fell. “Daisy?”
Valentine held his breath. If this man had killed the woman, he was going to pin him up against the wall. Let the ton see what a savage he was, he didn’t care.
“Daisy’s gone.”
“Gone?” Valentine repeated.
“Yes.” His tone edged with irritation. “She had come into some money and decided to go to the country. She had a daughter living with her sister there apparently.”
“Yours?”
“Bloody hell, Kendall, no need to be so direct.”
“Was it yours?”
He lifted a shoulder. “Who knows? But the damned woman did not want my coin anymore and left.” He pressed a finger to his lips. “Somewhere in Hertfordshire I think. Doubt she told anyone in case they tried to persuade her to stay.”
Valentine hissed out a hot breath. The man could be lying but he doubted it. Why lie and make oneself look like a bastard who had abandoned his child? “Where did the money come from?”
“Lord knows.”
He knew. The money that Chastity’s sisters had paid her had been a sizable sum—enough for her to look after her daughter for some time no doubt. Did that also mean this talk of seeing a man was a lie? It could well be if she’d seen a way out of her situation.
Reynold’s peered up at him. “If you’re that keen, I could introduce you to a few other acceptable women, though I must say, Kendall, I’d heard you were practically chaste these days.”
“It’s Lord Kendall to you,” he muttered as he walked away.
He met Chastity’s inquisitive stare and shook his head. They were still no closer to finding out who had killed Julian.
